


I Spy, With My Little Eye

by fadagaski



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: 5 Things, Academy Era, F/M, Friendship, Kobayashi Maru
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-08
Updated: 2011-08-08
Packaged: 2017-10-22 09:32:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/236611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fadagaski/pseuds/fadagaski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five ways Jim might have met Gaila.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Spy, With My Little Eye

**Author's Note:**

> #2 was inspired by [this prompt](http://igrockspock.livejournal.com/173793.html?thread=1920993#t1920993) over at igrockspock's [Multifandom Picture Prompt Commentfic Fest](http://igrockspock.livejournal.com/173793.html).

**One: At a seminar**

 _Welcome to Earth: An Introduction to Terran Customs, Behaviours, and Ways of Living_ was a mandatory day-long seminar for all Starfleet cadets born off-world. It sought to impart enough general knowledge about human standards and taboos to avoid any unfortunate cultural misunderstandings once said cadets were released unto the world.

Jim Kirk snored so loudly he woke himself up, jerking in his seat. There was a God-awful crick in his neck that he tried, unsuccessfully, to massage away. Jeez, was this guy still talking? Jim had fallen asleep an hour ago, bored almost to tears by the lecture on eating habits. It seemed the old guy was up to 'coffee', and the social ramifications of same.

Rolling his head across his shoulders, Jim cast his eyes across the motley assortment in the lecture theatre. Andorian, Denobulan, Tellerite, Rigellian, a rainbow of species sat side by side in the cramped folding chairs that weren't even comfortable for the race for which they were designed. There were a few humans dotted through the room; Jim played a short game with himself he called Name That Colony, based on the physical quirks the human cadets presented – the ones from Mars were pale, the one from Terratin had a thick, squat build from growing up in high gravity. It was entertaining for the five minutes it took him to spot every unsuspecting player.

"Hey," a voice whispered into his left ear. Jim jumped and almost knocked the disposable cup of hot steaming coffee that glided over his shoulder. He noticed first the lush colour of the hand holding said coffee, a vibrant green like spring grass, with nails of regulation length painted a non-regulation hot pink. Jim craned his neck to identify the owner of the arm, and came face to face with a pretty face in his favourite shade of green, cheeky blue eyes peeking between red lashes, and a wide smile curving a sweet mouth. Jim blinked stupidly for a moment, and then offered a grin in return.

"Thanks," he said, taking the coffee.

"I'm Gaila," said the girl - _Orion_ , his brain supplied helpfully. He'd never seen one up close before. Distantly he heard the dullest public speaker alive drone on about the differences between tea and coffee, but Jim tuned him out.

"Jim Kirk," he said, and offered his hand. Customary Earth greetings had been covered in the first forty minutes, at 0700 that morning. Gaila shook his hand enthusiastically. Her palms were surprisingly rough, calluses catching against his own as they pulled apart.

"Where were you born?" Gaila asked. Jim took a sip of the coffee, and nearly choked at the overwhelming amounts of sugar and cream and quite possibly vanilla. He definitely didn't choke at the question.

"On a ship," he said. "I grew up on Earth though." It was bureaucratic bullshit that had him in this seminar in the first place, the kind of bullshit that was too much trouble to fight against. Jim rolled his eyes.

"This must all be pretty pointless to you then, huh?" Gaila said. Jim recognised the tone, the falsely whimsical wheedle. He narrowed his eyes at her in expectation. "Wanna get out of here?" she asked, grinning.

Very quickly, Jim reviewed everything he knew about Orion women – human compatibility, erogenous zones, whether they possessed any latent Black Widow tendencies. Then he gave Gaila a deliberate and appreciative once over, before meeting her eyes with a wide smile of his own.

"Hell yeah."

*

 **Two: At a protest rally**

It wasn't like Jim cared.

Well, okay, he cared a little. Anyone spreading hate and vitriol across a city like San Francisco – or anywhere, but San Fran in particular, with its long history of diversity and openness – was Not Cool in Jim's view. He'd read the book his therapist gave him after Tarsus, Anne Frank and Nazis and twisted eugenics. It wasn't like the world was a pure, pristine utopia before First Contact.

But he wasn't militant about it like some of these guys. Jan was in charge of organising Cochrane Hall, marching them to the shuttles at double-quick pace with more efficiency than their drill sergeant during bootcamp that first month. Jim piled in more for lack of anything better to do than stand in his cadet reds on a Saturday at a picket line outside city hall and face off against an equally organised, equally militant army of placard-toting xenophobic bigots, with only the city police to act as a thin border between the two.

Despite the circumstances, it was a good atmosphere. There was music and food and non-alcoholic drink (because the police were _right there_ , and the oh-so passionate organisational cadets weren't _stupid_ ) and Jim was proud to be part of something bigger and better than himself. The non-human cadets weaved back and forth from the front lines, hugged and cheered by their fellow human cadets. Jim got up close and personal with twelve kinds of sentient life-forms he had never seen before, even in Riverside – the Starfleet hub of the Midwest.

Even with the police presence, when the sun went down and shadows swept out from dark street corners, it got ugly. The xenophobes chanted something hateful. The cadets jeered and booed. The xenophobes pushed the weak police line, and it wasn't hard for them to punch through.

One moment Jim was staring down the oncoming horde with their placards – bound to metal poles, _fuck_ – waving high. The next, he was in the thick of it, fists flying, elbows ploughing into whatever he could reach. It was vicious and brutal. Some lucky bastard got three shots to Jim's ribs before he could down him with a swinging boot to the groin.

The adrenaline thrummed through Jim's veins like every damn bar fight in Iowa. He was shaking with it, grinning through bloodied lips as he ducked a placard aimed at his face – why was it always the face? – and felt nose cartilage crunch beneath the heel of his hand.

Jim tongued the split in his top lip from an early shot that had just missed breaking his jaw. He thought a tooth felt wobbly, and it hurt to smile, but he couldn't help it. He hadn't felt this good, this _alive_ , since climbing on that shuttle six months ago.

"Shit! Riot police!" someone bellowed – cadet or protestor, Jim couldn't tell – causing a sudden stampede. A crush of bodies slammed into each other as everyone tried to flee away from the law. Jim was shunted and jostled, pointy limbs driving into his soft flesh like a second round of battle.

He tripped over something, couldn't tell what, and went down hard, nearly biting his tongue in half. A forest of legs weaved around him, booted feet stomping dangerously close to his head. Tucking into himself, Jim rolled onto his least-bruised side to look at the offending obstacle.

It was a girl. Cadet, by the uniform, which clashed spectacularly with the lurid green of her skin – though, judging by the brown bruises blooming across her knuckles and vulnerably bare legs, she had seen a fair bit of the action too. Frightened blue eyes met his from underneath the shelter of her arms. She winced when someone kicked her in the back.

Jim didn't even think twice. He wriggled backwards until he was crouched over her, using his body like a shield. She watched him with wariness in her expression, which morphed slowly into something warmer. Someone's steel-capped boot caught him in the knee. He cursed under his breath, and then gave the green girl a pained smile. "They'll move on soon, don't worry!" he shouted over the din of panic above their heads.

It felt like hours, but was probably only seconds. The police arrived in their rattling riot gear, sirens blaring to disperse everyone, and the crowd ran. Jim remained in his position over the green girl, his knee smarting and a trickle of blood dripping down his chin. The street seemed oddly bright without the shadow of hundreds of people cast over them.

"You okay?" Jim asked the girl. She was still watching him, but her bruised hands now were gripping the front of his reds.

"No one's ever done that before," she said. There was wonder in her eyes.

"Done what?"

"Helped me."

Before Jim could figure out what that meant or how to respond to it, she was craning her head up to press her mouth to his. It was warm, and iron-tinged, and when she pulled away there was the slick of human blood on her lips. Jim blinked stupidly at her.

"I'm Gaila," she said.

"Jim Kirk." Gaila smiled at him, sweet and almost shy.

"Kiss me, Jim Kirk," she said. In the litter-strewn street, under the glare of the police spotlights, he did.

*

 **Three: In hospital**

Jim's eyes opened before his brain woke up. There was bright sunlight streaming through the window across his bed. He basked in it for a moment like a cat, letting the heat ease the aches in his legs and his ribs. Based on the smell alone, he knew he was in hospital. He didn't remember being admitted, nor what he was in for. In fact, the last thing he remembered was stumbling back to the dorms after the riot, battered and bleeding and bruised.

Rolling over was troublesome, but he had a headache and the light was starting to hurt his eyes. He was in one of the big wards with a dozen other patients; clearly, whatever was wrong with him wasn't serious enough to warrant a private room.

The privacy curtain on the adjacent bed skidded back on its rails, revealing one Doctor McCoy behind it.

"Hey Bones," Jim greeted. He sounded like he'd been gargling gravel and sand all night.

"Jim. 'bout time you joined the livin'." Bones shuffled over, eyes on the biobed screen set in the wall even as his hands reached to touch Jim's skin. "How're you feelin'?"

"Peachy," Jim muttered. What was the point in answering when all his body's secrets were picked apart by the sensors in the bed for any doctor or nurse to read like a book?

"I'll bet," Bones said. "Well, your temperature's back to normal, and the infection's all but gone. Do you have to be allergic to nearly every antibiotic we have here? It's a damn pain in the ass."

"'s part of my charm." Jim was almost too tired to open his mouth for the words to come out.

"Maybe you could be a little less charming, and while you're at it, try to be less of a magnet for open wounds!" Bones glared down at Jim. "Microbes, Jim! You had a fever so bad you nearly died because of damn microbes!"

It was strange that Bones in full rant-mode could be so soothing. Jim could feel himself drifting off to sleep already.

Then a hypospray to the neck brought him flailing back to wakefulness. "Jeez! Warn a guy would ya?"

"Oh, quit being a baby. You're officially discharged. Get out of this bed so someone who actually needs it can climb in."

"Fine, I'm up." It took the two of them to make that statement actually true, and to wrestle Jim into his cadet reds – bloodstained though they were. Bones was muttering uncomplimentary commentary under his breath about Jim's intelligence, standards of hygiene, and ability to function in normal society, but Jim decided that ignorance – in this case – was the better part of valour. Or friendship. Whatever.

When he was finally dressed, he rested for a moment on the biobed while Bones did one final scan with his tricorder. "Was anyone else admitted?" Jim asked.

"From the riot? About a dozen, which isn't bad, from what the cops told us." He gestured to the bed next to them with a nod of his head. "She was the worst. Stamped on when she fell over." The tricorder bleeped. "Good as new. Now get lost! I've got actual patients to see."

That was what Jim liked best about Bones – he was always so thoughtful and considerate.

A stranger's concern and no small amount of morbid curiosity urged him the few steps to the girl's bedside after Bones left. Jim could see she would normally be absolutely breathtaking in full health. Against the white biobed however, in the overbright light, she looked sort of washed out. Her skin was a limp green, and red hair hung lank around her face. There were a multitude of bruises across her face and tender arms that had formed too late for the regenerators to do anything about. Jim glanced at her notes – had spent enough time around Bones and in hospitals to be able to translate most of the jargon into 'surgery' – and found that her name was 'Gaila'. Just 'Gaila'. No last names on her world.

There were no flowers or cards around her bedside. It didn't look like anyone had been to visit at all, and even unconscious, Gaila looked incredibly tired and sad.

Jim had homework to do, and there was supposed to be some kind of post-protest party happening on the quad that he had wanted to go to. Instead, Jim pulled up a chair by Gaila's bed and eased his sore body into it. He cradled one too-pale hand between his own.

"Hi Gaila," he said. "My name's Jim."

*

 **Four: In hand-to-hand combat class**

Turned out that, despite it being a student-led anti-protest against the xenophobes on Saturday, and therefore not officially sanctioned by the Academy or Starfleet at large, a number of officers and lecturers had been there to stand shoulder to shoulder with the cadets. Which meant most of them had been in the area during the fight. Which meant a large number of personnel had seen Jim's spectacular hand-to-hand combat skills (modesty was not a virtue in Jim's book; false modesty even less so).

When Jim strolled into class on Monday morning, still sporting a fantastic bruise across his jaw, Sergeant Lopez hauled him to the front of class and said, "Meet your new T.A. Jim Kirk."

Of course Jim was absolutely gobsmacked, but if life had taught him one thing it was how to roll with the punches. In this case, literally.

Adjusting to being the teacher instead of the student was a bit problematic, especially when he was trying to hit on most of the other cadets when outside of class, but mostly Jim found it fun. It left him with a warm feeling inside when someone who had been struggling with a particular move suddenly got it. Jim had never been so pleased to be kneed in the kidney before.

Halfway through the semester, a new girl transferred into class. Even though she stood at the back of the dojo, Jim noticed her primarily because she was bright green. Sergeant Lopez spoke to her out of Jim's earshot, and then the lesson was underway.

Lopez always led from the front of the class, guiding them through different kata from a variety of styles, then the practical applications for the moves independently. Jim's role was to circle the room and correct the others. He didn't have any martial arts training himself – unless bar brawling was a new martial art, in which case, Jim should have a damn black belt – but Jim knew his body well, and was a fast learner.

The green girl at the back of the class had a dancer's grace. Jim could see the muscles in her belly and thighs rippling as she moved, and felt a familiar flash of lust shoot through him. God, she was hot. There were a few patchy bruises on her legs that did absolutely nothing to detract from her looks. Jim had slept with a few dancers in his time; they were all completely neurotic, but their body control made it worthwhile.

The girl smiled at him, and he found himself grinning back. Then Lopez called for them to break into pairs for sparring practice and Jim had to go help.

Sweaty and flushed after class, Jim didn't think he was much of an attractive humanoid when the girl came over to him, a water bottle in her hand. Jim didn't believe in no win scenarios though; like a little sweat would stop him. He pulled out his biggest grin and didn't over-think the rest.

"You were really great," he said, and meant it. For a newbie to the class, she had caught on exceptionally fast.

"Thanks!" she chirped. "It's just like dancing, only much slower. And with no music."

"Some styles _are_ set to music," Jim said. "We do some of those next year." He laid his towel over the back of his neck and watched as the girl took healthy gulps of water. "You like dancing?"

"I used to, but I'm tired of it now," she said. Jim didn't think he was imagining the feigned nonchalance in her voice. He was pretty good at reading people, and he could see there was some underlying tension in the set of her shoulders and the corner of her eyes. She met his gaze head on, and said with steel, "I need to know how to fight."

It was on the tip of Jim's tongue to make some crass joke about wrestling, possibly related to a bed, but the more this girl stared at him, the less inclined he was to laugh it all off. She hadn't said 'want'; she'd said 'need'. There was a huge difference.

"Sure. I can teach you, if you like," he found himself saying, then blinked at himself. The girl grinned, and the strange moment was gone.

"Great! Are you free tomorrow lunch?"

"Uh, yeah. Meet you on the quad?"

"I'll see you there!" She hopped away, red curls bouncing free of their loose tie.

"Wait!" Jim called, when she was half out the door. She turned back, face expectant and a little wary. Jim raised his hands, open, friendly, unthreatening. "I don't even know your name."

"It's Gaila." Her grin was blinding.

*

 **Five: In the Kobayashi Maru**

The lights came up and Jim stayed seated. The other cadets filed out and Jim stayed seated. The viewscreen went blank and Jim stayed seated. His whole body felt like lead.

 _It's just a simulation_ , Pike had said after the first time. _Don't take it too seriously and you'll do fine._

But how else was Jim supposed to take it? The _Kobayashi Maru_ , God … It was just a fictional version of the _Kelvin_. Was Jim supposed to believe that he was the end product of a no-win scenario?

And what was the point anyway? Jim couldn't grasp it, and he was exceptionally smart (or so all his teachers had said). All this stupid sim had demonstrated – for the second time, in Jim's case – was that no matter how hard they tried, they were destined to lose. No happy endings for humans in space.

Jim let loose a shaky breath and slouched deeper into his chair. The captain's chair. It felt, suddenly, far too big for him, like he was a little boy playing pretend spaceships. Any moment now, his grandma would call him in for dinner, scolding him for his scuffed knees and dirty hands.

"Hey," a soft voice said to his right. Jim flinched. Through watery eyes he could make out a red uniform and green skin and not much else, until he blinked and wiped most of the moisture away. "You did really well." It was a girl, an Orion if his xenobiology lessons hadn't failed him, with a shock of red hair and a sad, sympathetic expression. "I heard the examiners talking. You were one of the best they've ever seen."

Jim snorted. "What does it matter? Everybody died in the end."

"But you kept trying. Even – even when all hope was lost, you didn't give up. You'd be amazed how many just – stop, like they don't care about their crew or anything." She pouted.

"It's just a stupid simulation. I'm probably the only cadet who's _ever_ cared." In a flash Jim was on his feet, body suddenly infused with energy as he paced in the small space in front of the captain's chair. The girl watched him. "It's so ridiculous. Why design a test that can't be beaten? It's not right. There's no situation in real life that can't be beaten if you just try hard enough. All this is just bullshit!" Jim kicked the captain's chair in frustration. His breath panted loud in the empty sim room.

"You're right," the girl murmured. He looked at her, surprised, and she met his eyes.

"What?"

"You're right. I've been helping to code the _Maru_ for four months, and it's insulting. The crap that I've been through, the things that I've seen and done, the only reason I'm even _here_ is because I made it happen."

"Right!" Jim nodded, eyes gleaming at this new-found kindred spirit. "You can't just give up because it looks bad. You have to keep going. If you don't, you might as well just lay down and die right now."

"Exactly!

They stared at each other, breathing hard, faces alight. Every nerve in Jim's body tingled with adrenaline and he grinned wide at the girl.

"I'm Jim Kirk, the first cadet who's going to beat the _Kobayashi Maru_ ," he said, and stuck out his hand.

"Gaila. The cadet who's going to help you."


End file.
